


Showing Off

by gentlesquid_andink



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Cormoran Strike's Competency Kink, Divorced Robin Ellacott, Dom/sub Undertones, Drunk Robin Ellacott, Exhibitionism, F/M, First Kiss, Getting Together, Ilsa Herbert Ships Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, Pre-Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike, bossy girlfriends are the best
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 17:43:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29613084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gentlesquid_andink/pseuds/gentlesquid_andink
Summary: Surely everyone thought Cormoran would be the one to get drunk and make a pass, right?Or:Things have been different since Robin's divorce came through.
Relationships: Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Comments: 26
Kudos: 60





	1. Chapter 1

The crisp spring air from earlier had turned outright chilly with the rain. That was outdoors, though, and Strike and Robin were quite cozy sitting in the back corner of the Tottenham. Perhaps it was the miserable weather that had driven so many others indoors, too, into their favorite neighborhood pub. Or maybe this was just a typical Friday. The crowd had that ‘letting loose’ vibe that meant no one was planning on an early morning being responsible. Cormoran certainly wasn’t. What was the point of the agency’s success if it didn’t mean he could take off on Saturdays? 

The liquor was flowing, the music was decent, and the night was young, no end in sight.

This was their life now, him and Robin. Objectively, Strike knew better than to think that post-divorce, Robin would come flying into his arms. He would have been highly skeptical if she had, experienced investigator that he was. That sort of situation never turned out well. Anyway, she was better than that. 

They had started spending more time together. Less defined. Fewer work excuses for being together, feeling alive. These days, most every Friday night started with them moving from the office to the pub. They even took turns covering the tab, which usually had Strike feeling like a bit of a cad. Not like they were contributing equally to the drinking. 

Tonight, though. Tonight, Robin had sent him back to lay claim over a single open booth with a wry look up and down his large frame. 

“You grab it and you keep it,” she’d instructed. That no nonsense, get it done tone he found so compelling.

He couldn’t help puffing up his chest a bit as he’d stalked over and sat down. She’d greeted him not long after with a tray of shots and his beloved pint. No wine glass. A few waters, thank fuck.

That’d been hours ago. 

***

“Are we celebrating or staving off some inevitable misery?” Strike asked when he saw the spread, then threw back his first whiskey before waiting to find out.

The glare sent across the table was typical for the two of them. “What?” He rejoined to her silent admonishment. “There’s always misery lurking inevitably.”

Robin tossed her loose golden hair back and picked up her own drink. 

“We are just living, Cormoran. It is Friday night.” She clicked her shot against Strike’s second, already in hand as he gave her his full attention. He didn’t take his eyes off her, swallowing thickly while she tipped her head back to let the liquid pour smoothly down in one go. 

“No occasion,” she confirmed. “Just us,” and she grabbed another. 

Strike should have realized he was in trouble the moment he was caught watching her tongue gliding across her lower lip, catching an errant drop of liquid. Her eyes sparkled with mischief and he couldn’t help but feel the dare coming through. Should have known he was playing a game he couldn’t win, not that night. Couldn’t help but play when she quirked her eyebrows at him.

***

Despite the uptick in Robin’s consumption, the night started out pretty much like all the others they’d spent there. Updates on their ongoing cases were traded back and forth, observations of the oddities that stuck out devolving into anecdotes from their own lives. Strike has been particularly hungry of late for stories from Robin’s teenaged years, ones where she was beginning to stretch her wings but before she met Matt. 

“You shouldn’t look so happy - my struggle and confusion were real, Cormoran!”

He’d lost track of the plot, something about a failed matchmaking scheme. 

“Tffft. I believe it. It’s just -”

Her hair was a golden mess and she’d been so animated telling him about her antics and now here she was, admonishing him with a bit more edge than usual.

“You’re so fucking fierce, Robin.”

The glow at the compliment warred with her stern warning face and Strike was done in, he was.

***

Robin insisted on going for the next round. She made her way up to the bar, which was now three deep with patrons. Strike watched as a few guys tried to chat her up, her response more giggly than usual. He was mulling over whether it was worth losing their nook to go join her and stake his non-existent claim. At least she’d caught the attention of the bartender quickly enough. A few moments later, he held up a fresh tray to pass it over the heads of some pretty young things who weren’t interested in moving out the way. Robin didn’t seem to mind and soon Strike didn’t, either. 

The filmy white blouse she was wearing rode up as Robin reached for the tray above their heads. At the office, she’d worn a cardi and the shortness of the fabric, the sheerness of it, had barely registered. Here she was now, stretching until it was halfway up her sides and he was utterly enthralled.

Strike’s just drunk enough and she’s just far enough away that he lets himself peek at the skin on display. Curves always kept hidden from him. There’s practically an entire crowd between them. She won’t catch him out. And besides, she doesn’t seem to mind everyone else in the damn bar ogling as she turns with the refilled tray of drinks high above their heads. 

Her eyes find his immediately as she heads back. With one slow hand, she casually jacks her hem back down, which also causes the low cut neckline to dip below lace-cupped cleavage. She catches him watching that, too. Doesn’t do a damn thing but quirk her chin up a tick as she stalks her way around the bodies between them. Doesn’t even acknowledge the guy stepping forward to give her his best line. Steps to the side of their table to set the drinks down right in front of him. 

“All these people in here tonight. Can’t get between me and what I want, though.”

She hadn’t adjusted the shirt again. The revealing neckline was on level with his gaze and he didn't know if he could tear it away.

His gaze. Not the neckline. Surely not the blouse in its clingy, sheer entirety. 

“Who’d dare get in your way?”

Yep, she was still watching him watching her.

“Mmmmmmhmm," she drawled.

Instead of sitting back in her seat across from him, she nudged him over on his bench. It was a tight fit with Robin folding her legs underneath her as she leaned sideways up against him. 

It wasn’t long before someone claimed the chair for their own party and neither one of them could have cared less. 

***

After that, it was impossible to pretend there wasn’t more between them than their typical friendly Friday night banter. The liquor kept flowing and the music got louder. Robin was bopping along to the beat, feeling the full liberation of the drinks they’d been consuming. The approving looks she’d gotten each time she tried something daring and new.

“Come on, then.” Robin murmured as she slid her arm around his side. She was tugging before he could make sense of what she wanted, all wrapped around him and warm. So warm.

“Ah, I - what are we…?” Confusion painted his face, he knew. Didn’t stop her one bit from snuggling in and then finding his hand to slide her fingers into his. All of his focus was on nimble fingers between his until he realized she was pulling at his large frame.

“I wanna dance!”

Uh oh. Oh no. 

“This does not seem like the dancing sort of crowd.” Strike negotiated. 

A group had broken off from the younger crowd near the bar and started to jam, making a mockery of his argument.

“Look at how much fun they’re having! We could be having that much fun!”

Fact was, he was having that much fun. And more, right here.

“I’m not the dancing sort of crowd,” he emphasized with an apologetic nod.

The sly grin that took over her face as Robin unwrapped herself to stand up was going to be trouble. Fuck he wanted whatever it meant.

“Well then you can watch some more.” 

The saucy declaration sounded like permission. The promise held in Robin’s swaying hips as she headed out to dance along had his blood up like nothing else. 

What was he to do with this woman? She wasn’t even trying to hold back anymore and that shimmy thing she was doing was, it was just. He couldn’t. Drunk Robin was testing things in all the right ways. 

Too bad he couldn’t act on any of them until they’d had the talk he knew was somewhere in their future.

She laughed and bounced on the floor drawing his mind back to what was right in front of him. It had to be, this talk. And it had to be soon if this was their new way of doing Friday nights.

***

Back at their table. The music starting to slow down. 

“It’s late.” Strike didn’t want the night to end. Wanted it to morph into something else maybe. Even wanted to continue as they’d been, laughing and flirting. God, the flirting. Drunk Robin was even more playful than usual and he never wanted any of it to end.

“‘S’not that late,” Robin quipped, slurring a bit as she tried to convince herself. “I wanna stay here. With you, Corm. We should be here all the time!”

The siren song she was singing could pull him under. 

“Let me get you home. Your home. Make sure you get into bed all safe and sound. Please.” He tried the plaintive look that he’d noticed paired well with his attempts to take care of her. 

Strike slowly made his way to his feet. “We can always come back. Most Friday nights we do, in fact.”

When he was stood in front of her, he put out a hand, asking “What do you think - walk it off? Or should we splurge on a cab tonight?”

The change in perspective when she stood had Robin reeling. Strike was solid against her in a heartbeat, arm wrapped around her shoulders.

“Cab it is, darling.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He did promise to get her home safe.

“Shhh!” Robin admonished Strike as he shut and locked Ilsa and Nick’s door behind them.

Course, he wasn’t the one stumbling against the wall in the first place. Turns out Drunk Robin is even feistier than the Robin he got to see most days. He didn’t have time for it to be the death of him, frankly. He was too busy trying to soak it all up, maybe tuck away all these tiny details for when he was up all night alone later.

Another fumble as they made their way down the long hall towards the guest bedroom where Robin was staying between sublets. Strike figured a strong arm wrapped around her waist was entirely appropriate for the situation. Damn silk under his palm was telling him otherwise, the way it got his mind racing. Another tiny detail.

Robin turned half-towards him, not breaking free - continuing, “Don’t want them thinking I’m sneaking you in.” 

Her giggle at the thought wasn’t entirely off-putting. Yep. Entirely appropriate. That was them.

***

After debating a moment, Strike closed her bedroom door. With him on the inside. His reasoning being that he had promised to see her safely into bed. Plus the evidence to date was clear: she wasn’t currently capable of controlling her own volume. Strike was trying really hard not to imagine other situations in which she might experience the same problem.

He shouldn’t have worried she would take his presence the wrong way. Only a few steps into the room, Robin turned back around to him to share her thoughts.

“It’s really nice of you, Corm. This...” She waved her hands around the room a bit.

He heard the words, he did. The fingers headed down to her zipper, though, pulling it down and starting to tug the tight material past her hips. Those fingers left him unable to respond.

“I mean, you’re such a gentleman."

Tug.

"Like, an actual feminist, not just -" 

Tug.

"- polite to follow the rules.” 

He couldn’t even help her when she nearly fell over pulling the first bare leg out of the pants around her ankles. Utterly frozen in place, he was.

“You don’t really follow the rules, do you, Cormoran. Blue. Strike?”

She punctuated his name - or maybe the point about not following the rules? - by throwing her pants across the room. Strike’s eyes followed their trajectory to keep from staring at the white cotton pants covering Robin’s round bum. They were edged in lace and cut high and Christ, he was going to be thinking about them tonight, goddamnit he was.

By the time he chanced a quick glance back at her, Robin had moved over to a duffel bag on the floor at the end of the bed. Bent over it. Surely she was rummaging around and would stand back up soon and he wouldn’t want to miss a single second of accidental voyeurism. Not with curves like that on offer.

Almost like she knew what he was up to, Robin wiggled said perfect ass before twisting round to grin at him. Cormoran missed what the handful of grey material tossed onto the bed was as Robin grasped the hem of that damn blouse in both hands. She popped it over her head and, as her arms came down with it, released the clasp on her bra in one smooth move. The woman couldn’t make it down a straight hallway without telling him off for her own noise but she could peel off a lacy bra like it was nothing? Nipples pointed with the chill or the fabric brushing against them maybe, surely not for being on display. 

“Robin, I, I don’t think -”

Before he could lay down any new lines for them each to acknowledge, she was back within bounds. An oversized grey tee stretched down over her head, clung to her neck, and fell down over those gorgeous full breasts, obscuring them from view. Cormoran wasn’t sure if he could look her in the eye. Upset, embarrassed...teasing: which reality would be worst?

“Robin. Is it possible you’re a bit of an exhibitionist?”

Shit. That sounded less...real?...when the thought was inside his head. The voice it snuck out in was too husky to pass it off as a joke.

Robin turned round to face him and Strike scrunched his face in anticipation, knowing he deserved whatever rebuke was coming his way. The solemn look in Robin’s wide-eyed face didn’t look mad, though. Or embarrassed in the least. As she came closer, stopping too close to be polite, he realized she was slowly nodding.

“Yeah. Think I might be.”

Christ.

No sudden movements. That’s how he was going to get through this. The only way. Every cell was itching to look, to touch. If he moved, the way he was dying to, Robin would either end up backing up until they hit the bed or pulled forward flush against his body.

Drunk. She’s drunk. 

The mantra was thin rope tying him back from her. Not while she’s drunk, you jackass.

Voice still down low, he couldn’t help but stoke the fire. Just a little bit.

“‘s that so?”

Wrapping his large hands around her shoulders, Strike spun her slowly to face the bed. She went easily into the motion, listing to the side at one point. He waited a beat while she found her balance before moving one hand down to the small of her back. Slipped it up under the long tee where her skin was smooth. Warm. The least consolation prize he could convince his hands to take. And he pushed, gently but firmly, forward.

It was only a few steps before they reached her destination. Too little time and also way too much.

Strike’s thumb smoothed down before departing so she could climb into bed. He leaned around her to help pull down the duvet. 

“Maybe we should talk about that some," he suggested. "Once you’re back to being -”

Steady.  
Sober.  
Out of reach.

“-my regular Robin.”

It would be an overstatement to say she trounced up into the bed. For someone supposedly worried about making noise, though, it wasn’t exactly subtle. Slid those long, bare legs under blankets Strike reluctantly pulled up over her. 

Once settled, Robin looked up at him, dramatic pout in place. 

“Regular Robin’s no fun.”

He couldn’t. Nope. Bloody drunk.

Strike gaped at her in silence before turning to walk back to the door. 

“I’m gonna get you some water and then I’m going to tell you about Regular Robin.”

***

Making his way around the corner to the kitchen, Strike glanced over towards the staircase. Good thing Ilsa was so invested in their as yet non-existent relationship. They’d been annoying as fuck coming in like this. 

Water glass full, a hasty ‘sorry’ scribbled on the fridge’s message board, he headed back. 

The sight that greeted him wasn’t exactly a surprise. Robin was knocked out. Fully dead to the world. 

Strike placed the glass gingerly on the bedside table, glancing at the clothes thrown across the room. Thought about whether he should grab em off the floor, at least corral them on top of her bag.

Maybe she wouldn’t remember how she’d tortured him when he couldn’t act on all her heat. Maybe she’d be embarrassed even more if he’d cleaned up after her. She could be fussy about making her own way. If she were mortified, that might make things worse. 

And what harm was there in leaving a little evidence? his baser instincts asked. Just in case she wanted to remember.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These two might finally do some Adulting together at the same time. Ahem.  
> (Real *Adulting* happens in Part 4, where the Explicit rating is fully earned. Fair warning...)

The office was quiet for a Monday morning. Usually Robin was juggling a flurry of mini-crises and/or new leads that came in over the weekend. Well. On the rare weekend they both took off. These days there was as much work as they were willing to take on, wasn’t there?

There was nothing terribly pressing as she arrived and sorted the email and phone messages, though. Mostly Robin was just fussing around with lose bits of paperwork. Waiting for the day to really begin.

She’d worn the blouse again. Wondered if he’d remember the last time she’d worn it, a week ago last Friday. They hadn’t seen each other much since then, what with Robin running her own team on a pair of bigger cases. Maybe he’d realize its importance and give her some sort of sign. A flare of heat in those eyes that went wide and still on hers so often. A deepening of his voice.

And, of course he did. The slow, intermittant thump of him making his way up the stairs gave her plenty of warning. Robin positioned herself in reception, off to the side casually glancing through an unnecessary sheet of paperwork. He stopped just inside the office door until Pat spurred him forward with a brash, “What?” 

Robin could feel the pregnant pause between them. She quietly stepped over to the kitchenette with a deliberate economy of movement. Waited for him to follow. She poured a second cup of tea to join the one she’d been sipping. The kettle clicked back down onto the burner just as Strike joined her.

“You look...quite fetching today. That for me?”

Robin nodded toward the mug, eyebrow raised and not bothering to conceal the glint in her eye at his double meaning. God she loved how willing he was to play this way. Always with the words and the cleverness and the choices for how to respond.

“Hmm. Extra sugar today.” 

He picked up the mug and raised it to his lips. 

Robin continued, still barely straight-faced. “Hope you wanted it like that.”

They weren’t fooling Pat. Strike stood too close to be casual, head inclined down to murmur in her ear.

“Should we take this into our office then?”

Robin placed her half-empty mug on the counter before turning back to him. Strike had waited for her eyes on his, paused to make sure she was watching, and let himself glance down between them. A slow down, and even slower up. 

Yep. He had noticed the blouse. 

Robin swallowed. “Yeah.”

Strike nodded once. Let her walk in front of him, taking the lead. 

“Let’s go,” she declared on the way. 

***

The door clicked shut. Cormoran continued a respectful distance into the room before turning around with a chuffed sigh.

“Look, I’m sorry if I...overstepped...the other night. I just wanted to make sure you got home safely, that’s all.”

“Think I’m the one who may have overstepped, really.” Robin shifted her gaze off of him. “Peeling of my clothes like that in front of you, I -”

She sighed. Even with all the tension clearly between them just moments ago, she owed him this.

“I’m sorry if I embarrassed you. It was entirely unprofessional.”

Her fingers reached for her belly reflexively, rubbing the bottom edge of the silk as if her fingers remembered exactly what they did. And they weren’t sorry about it one bit.

Robin watched as Cormoran followed their movement before she continued. “I shouldn’t have -”

Cormoran’s mouth stole her next words, lips open and hot on her own. The wall of his chest and thick arms snaking around her sides held her together just as she started falling to pieces trying to catch up. Her tongue met his and she whimpered in relief. 

Cormoran pulled his head back just far enough to clarify, “Not embarrassed.”

Robin felt the fingers of his left hand tangle briefly in the ends of her blouse at her back, mirroring her earlier movements. 

“No?”

He panted a moment longer before sliding both large hands up along her neck to bracket her cheeks. This time, his kiss was unbelievably tender.

“No,” he kissed into her ear.

“No embarrassment here,” he trailed down her neck. “Ever.”

She twined her fingers into his hair to pull him back up. Effective, and also a bit hot to be able to grab him at will like that. Direct him where she needed him.

“Not even when I dress you down for being too noisy at your mate’s?”

Cormoran was taking her in all while staying as close as he possibly could. The fingers in his hair were pulling him up off her, yet her thighs and belly were just as tightly pushed up against him as ever.

“That bit’s just as hot as you standing there in your knickers,” he confessed. Stared straight at her, no remorse whatsoever in admitting it.

Robin gave another quick tug in his hair in response before initiating her own kiss. She might have been tentative had he not grunted and immediately welcomed her tongue into his mouth. How could she question genuine desire like that? When his hips jolted at her entry like they just couldn’t help it?

This time when they broke, Strike swiped a thumb up across her jaw and then back down over her full lower lip. He took a step back, not far, but with definite intent. 

“I think it’s time we went out to dinner, Rob.”

“We eat dinner together all the time.”

That sounded ridiculously confused even to her own ears. She couldn’t follow his train of thought, not with Cormoran’s rather thorough mouth so recently memorizing hers.

“Not like this. Real dinner - a proper date.”

“Oh.”

She didn’t know why she hadn’t assumed this was where they were headed as soon as she saw Strike rake his eyes over her blouse. 

“Yeah.” She sighed out, absently hoping she didn’t sound disappointed. Robin wanted to date Strike - obviously she wanted this thing between them to finally be real. All she could think about, though, was how she hadn’t expected his passion to be laid quite so bare before they got there. 

Still. “Yes, absolutely. I -”

Strike took pity on her stammering. “Tonight, okay? Can’t really imagine waiting much longer.”

His eyes didn’t lower. The heat was still there, and now so was the effort he was exerting to bank it for now. Robin grinned.

“Tonight. I get off around 6,” she realized the unintended double-entendre. How her face could flood with more of a flush after being snogged within an inch of her life, she would never know. Didn’t help that Cormoran was so amused by how easily she flustered sometimes. “After I finish with the feuding parents.”

“You better get out of here.” Strike said as he headed behind his desk. “Got a client coming in at 10 and I gotta cool down.”

The tingle down Robin’s spine felt familiar. Feeling it sizzle down her nerves straight to her core in front of Cormoran - sober, knowing he’d see it right there on her face? That was new. She liked it.

“Long as that’s all you’re doing in here…” she dropped ruefully as she shut the door behind her. 

It was going to be a long day for both of them.


End file.
